


Argentum, Viridis

by jessebee



Series: Alchemy Trilogy [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Holidays, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-25
Updated: 2012-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-02 12:24:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape has a Christmas he didn't ask for, but it's enlightening all the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Argentum, Viridis

 

 

  
 _"Every romantic should have someone by his side saying, 'What a charming idea. It won't work, of course, but it's such a charming idea._ "

_(Miss Manners)_

 

 

 

"But you can't!"

 

Severus Snape leaned back in his chair, folded arms across his chest, and barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes in disgust as Harry Potter turned from him to the Headmaster and continued his histrionics.

 

"They know, now; surely that's obvious! It's too dangerous to go again! Headmaster, please." Potter made one more agitated sweep across Albus Dumbledore's office, currently decorated in a revoltingly red and green fashion for the Christmas holiday, and stopped in front of the Headmaster's desk. As the boy had finally gained some height his last year in school and was now only a few inches shorter than Snape himself, the gesture was not quite as silly-looking as it could have been.

 

The ill-mannered twit actually had the gall to appeal to Albus to second-guess Snape's decision. Snape was both irritated and impressed. He opened his mouth to retort, but Albus caught his eye and he subsided, waiting.

 

"Harry, sit down." Dumbledore gestured to Potter's vacated chair.

 

"But -- "

 

"Harry." There was a hint of steel beneath the word. Potter shut his mouth and sat, with obvious reluctance and ill-grace, much to Snape's amusement.

 

"Professor Snape has great experience here, Harry; as much as and, most likely, more than possibly anyone else."

 

Snape smiled to himself. It _was_ rather nice to hear his merits touted occasionally, even if it was in this situation.

 

"He is quite fully capable of judging the risks and making a decision. And as he has pointed out, we really have little choice here. If he were not to answer the next summons, that would in itself be an admission of duplicity, one which we can ill afford." Dumbledore leaned forward. "Unless you have additional information that we do not?" He peered at Potter over the tops of his half-glasses.

 

Snape watched, still amused, as Potter dropped his eyes and twitched slightly in obvious discomfort. "No," he muttered, sounding a little mulish. Then he pulled himself up and met the Headmaster's eyes. "No, sir, I don't. I just … I have one of those feelings." His voice was steady and even. Adult. Snape nodded inwardly, pleased in spite of himself. At eighteen and a half, the boy was learning, finally. Slowly and painfully, with his Gryffindor tendencies clearly protesting every step of the way, but he was learning.

 

Good sweet Merlin, he'd just admitted to being pleased with Harry Potter. What _was_ the world coming to?

 

"I shall consider myself warned, Potter," he remarked dryly. Potter shot him a baleful, sideways glance. They had been forced to work together long enough that the boy certainly knew when he was being needled. Which was, Snape cheerfully admitted, most of the time. One of life's little pleasures. And the boy was bidding to become a far better verbal sparring partner than either his father or godfather had ever been. _Must be his mother's blood …_

 

~~ ~~ ~~

 

_Potter was right._

 

The thought drifted through his aching head as he was dragged roughly along. It was forced away a moment later as he was dropped unceremoniously, his skull cracking on the floor, but it crept back some indefinable time later, as awareness of his cold, dank surroundings filtered in past the solid mass of anguish that his body had become.

 

Potter had been right. Damnably, annoyingly, painfully right.

 

Voldemort had known, or suspected, that Snape had been playing both sides. This time Snape had paid for it. But then the suggestion had been made, by Lucius Malfoy no less, that Snape-as-bait might be even more amusing than Snape-being-disposed-of-slowly, however entertaining that disposal promised to be. Snape might have laughed hysterically if he could have gotten the breath for it, as the idea was discussed over him as he lay on the floor at the Dark Lord's feet. Dumbledore wouldn't, _couldn't_ risk sending anyone after him, nor could he imagine who would be willing to try. Not for Severus Snape.

 

Not even Harry Potter was that altruistic.

 

The Death Eaters hadn't been allowed to kill him. Not quite.

 

But he was close. His wand was gone, probably shattered as thoroughly as he knew his body was, and there could be no possible repair for either.

 

He would not be leaving here alive.

 

 

How long he lay there, he didn't know. But he became aware of a rustle of sound; then his head and shoulders were lifted off of the cold stone floor and onto something softer and delightfully warm. His sticky, matted hair was peeled back off of his face. Gentle hands cradled his head, touched his shoulders, his chest. There were voices …

 

" … is he?"

 

"It's bad. Collarbone, ribs, left leg …"

 

He was hallucinating, the still-clinical part of his mind decided; he had to be. There was no other possible explanation for the voices to sound like Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, of all people. Surely even Potter wasn't idiot enough to walk right into --

 

"But he'll make it." Silence. "'Mione?"

 

_'Mione? Oh, no._

 

Softly the answer came back. "His internal injuries are massive --"

 

"He can't die." The Potter-voice, no, _Potter's voice_ , was thick and intense. _No. He_ _ **is**_ _that stupid--_

 

"Harry --"

 

"He's not going to die. _I won't let him._ "

 

There was light, intense enough to leak past his closed eyelids. There was touch, hands clenching on his shoulders, a minor ache easily lost among the larger ones. And then there was heat, a blazing rush of power that washed out from those hands, searing through him from top to toes. He sucked in a startled, painful gasp of air and stopped, unable to breathe, unable to move in any fashion whatsoever as a blaze of agony like nothing, _nothing_ he'd ever felt before ripped through him, rearranged him, filled him to bursting and overflowed … and washed away.

 

His shocked lungs expelled the breath abruptly and drew another one … and it didn't hurt. In fact, most of his body, he realized as his eyes snapped open to a fuzzy sort of light, didn't hurt anymore. Not exactly. He felt _tender_ somehow, all over, inside and out, the sort of tender one got if one put a foot wrong and almost, but not quite, twisted an ankle. The dim, blurry world suddenly sharpened into focus, and he was looking up into the upside-down face and wide green eyes of Harry Potter. It was Potter's lap his head was resting on, Potter's hands on his shoulders.

 

What in the name of blessed _bloody_ Merlin had the boy done?!

 

"Gods and angels," someone breathed, and Snape looked over to see Granger running her wand over him, five or so inches above his body. Her eyes were nearly the size of a house-elf's. She stared at Snape, then back at Potter. "Harry, _what_ \-- "

 

"You've found him," came a low, relieved-sounding voice. Remus Lupin was in the doorway, just visible in the low light. "We've got to move, they're coming."

 

Lupin darted into the cell to catch Snape's hand and pull him to his feet, Potter helping from behind. No time to excoriate Potter now, that could come later when they were out. If they got out.

 

He felt a familiar tingle in his fingers as Lupin put a slender, hard object into his hand. His wand, unbelievably still intact. No time to ask about that, either, but he felt an unaccustomed swell of warmth for his former classmate.

 

Granger was at his elbow, wisely not offering help but there if needed. Lupin led the way, his own wand at the ready, his expression reminding Snape uncomfortably of the man's more lupine side. Potter brought up the rear. Or he did until they reached the main doors and saw what waited them outside. Death Eaters, and --

 

 _"VOLDEMORT!"_ Potter's shout made Snape jump, and then the Boy Who Lived charged past them, wand out, and the battle was joined.

 

From there it was a confused muddle of light, energy, sound and fury. He hexed two of his former "colleagues" as they came at him. He saw Lupin take down one masked Death Eater and yell something at Granger, who disappeared, before the werewolf turned to confront another one. He saw the air flash brilliant gold and a sick, intense, pulsing green around Potter and Voldemort, a expanding sphere of light growing rapidly brighter until it could not be looked at. The remaining Death Eaters scattered, disappeared, fleeing like the cowards that they were, and --

 

_**"DOWN!"** _

 

That was all Snape had time to say as he threw himself face-down into the filthy cold mire, and all hell broke loose.

 

The storm of magic roared over him, pounding and pulling as it howled like a live thing. Such an insolent challenge as that to the structure of creation couldn't go ignored, and it wasn't. The very earth beneath growled and shook. Heaved. Exploded.

 

Even through the external pains of cutting wind and falling earth he felt it, the ripping and tearing at the very warp and weft of magic itself, and he would have emptied his stomach right then and there had it not been for the iron self-control of far too many years. It went on and on, twisting, stretching tighter and tighter until something had to give …

 

And then it stopped.

 

The silence was absolute.

 

After a cautious moment, Snape raised his head.

 

No sound, no movement. And about twenty metres ahead, where his former student had been locked in combat with the enemy of the world, there was nothing at all.

 

Snape levered himself up onto his elbows and stared in disbelief.

 

Nothing but the edge of a hole in the ground. A terrifyingly large hole.

 

He struggled to his feet, ignoring the not-quite-steady state of his knees, and got himself to the edge. The crater was enormous, an almost perfect sphere of earth that simply wasn't there anymore, vaporized by the forces released within. Smooth and empty, except for the crumpled human form at the very bottom.

 

_Harry!_

 

Snape was halfway down the slope almost without knowing how he'd gotten there, and skid-sliding the rest of the way. His only thought was to get to that far-too-still figure. He couldn't be dead, he simply couldn't be dead, goddammit, Snape wouldn't **let** him…!

 

He dropped to his knees beside the body, ignoring the rock digging into his right leg, and gently eased the young man over onto his back. His own hands, Snape noted distractedly, were shaking.

 

Harry was limp and utterly still. His glasses were gone, exposing the pure lines of his face to the uncaring sky. He was all dirt and blood, his robes and the clothing beneath ripped through to his skin. Snape pressed his fingertips under Harry's jaw, feeling for a pulse … there. But so faint, weak. And there, another beat. And --

 

And … nothing more.

 

No.

 

No.

 

 _"No!"_ Not knowing what he was doing, never mind how he was doing it, Snape closed his eyes, focusing, looking for the life that _must_ be there. And _reached._

 

 

It was warm, suddenly, but not too warm. And sunny. Snape blinked, and stared. He was standing on Hogwarts ground, on the bluff overlooking the lake. The grass was green and fragrant, the small bright wildflowers nodding in the light breeze. The sun was at a lazy pitch, conjuring diamonds out of the lake ripples.

 

It was as perfect an afternoon as had never occurred.

 

And close to the bluff edge sat a young man in loose clothes, a snowy owl resting placidly on a big rock close by.

 

Snape found that he could move and did so, coming up behind the dark haired figure. _Potter_ was what he intended to say. What came out was, "Harry."

 

Harry shifted and didn't quite look back at him. "Severus," he replied softly. A tingle skittered up Snape's spine.

 

Snape realized then just what it was that was happening -- he was in Harry's "place." He had somehow managed, in his desperate effort to stop the young man from slipping away, to tumble himself into Harry's mind. _To communicate mind to mind is one of the rarest of gifts, and one of the most difficult things a wizard can attempt,_ he heard again as memory brought him a long-ago lecture of Dumbledore's. _It requires a level of trust and openness that few are ready to give. It is nearly impossible, when speaking in this way, to give anything other than the utter truth._

 

How the bloody hell this was happening now Snape had no clue, but he'd be damned if he'd waste the chance.

 

He crouched down on his heels beside Harry, noting absently that he was clothed only in his normal black trousers and white shirt, his sleeves rolled up a fold or two. "Harry, you must come back now."

 

"Must I? I don't think so." Harry continued to gaze out over the lake. "I don't want to go back. I never wanted this, to have this, this _destiny_ , to be the savior of the wizarding world. I never asked for any of this."

 

Unease slipped a fine, cold blade between his ribs. "That is a remarkably childish thing to say."

 

"Well of course it is," Harry said sharply. "And right here and now, I don't care." He closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and sighed.

 

Snape looked at the clean line of his throat, and swallowed.

 

After a moment, Harry continued, more quietly. "I'm so bloody tired of fighting, Severus."

 

"And how precisely do you think I feel?" It burst from him before he could think about stopping it. "This war is older than you are, Harry, and I have been fighting it since before your parents died."

 

"I know," Harry whispered. "And I'll never know what you've done, what you've given. You've no idea how much I respect you; for many things, but for that most of all." Finally he turned his head and met Snape's gaze. Snape was stunned, both by the words and by the sheen in his eyes. "How the bloody hell do you do it?"

 

When he found his voice, Snape gave the only answers he could. "Because I must. Because the alternative is unthinkable."

 

Green eyes held his, searching for … what? Then they were shuttered under black lashes and Harry turned away, and Snape could breathe again.

 

Birdsong, and the light sigh of the breeze. And time, precious time, slipping away …

 

"I -- didn't do it, did I? It isn't over yet." Harry's voice was barely audible.

 

Snape glanced down. The Mark on his left forearm was faint, but the outlines of the malevolent skull and serpent were still clearly, damnably visible. "No, it isn't."

 

Silence.

 

"Harry. Come back. Not for this, but for those who will miss you."

 

Harry laughed, a short, sharp, painful sound. "Miss me? They'll miss the Boy Who Lived, at least."

 

Worry nudged the blade in a bit deeper. "Is that truly what you think of Mr. Weasley? Miss Granger?"

 

Harry shook his head slightly, eyes squeezed tight shut. "Perhaps not them." He dropped his chin to his chest. "What about you? Will you miss me?" It was only too clear from his resigned tone what he expected to hear.

 

But here, in this place, there was only one answer Snape could give. "Yes."

 

Harry's head snapped up and he looked at Snape with wide eyes. "You -- will?"

 

Again, there was only one answer. "Yes. I would miss the you I have learned to see. I would regret not meeting the man you are becoming."

 

Harry stared, his lips slightly parted. On his face dawned an expression almost like wonder. Or even … joy? Snape stared back, caught again, seeing a spark returning to the younger man's eyes. A dark, forbidden feeling, the same one he'd been ruthlessly subduing for over a year now, stirred behind his breastbone.

 

At last, Harry nodded. "All right." And reached out his hand.

 

Snape reached back …

 

… a flash of light, a surge of heat …

 

… and wet, cold cloth under his fingers. He blinked, shook his head hard. He was on his knees in the muck, his hand resting flat over Harry's heart. The chest beneath his palm was ominously still. _Breathe, Harry._

 

_Breathe. Now._

 

Fear, the treacherous bitch, grabbed the knife hilt and twisted. "Damn you, Potter, _breathe!_ "

 

The body moved. Harry arched up violently, as if shocked, mouth open, chest heaving in a sudden, desperate quest for air. His eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing. Then he slumped back to the ground, gasping.

 

"Gently. Gently. That's it …" Snape realized he'd moved his other hand to grip Harry's shoulder.

 

Harry tensed, still staring blindly; then as if a spell had triggered, he focused, bloodshot green looking straight up at Snape. And smiled. "H'lo." His eyes closed again and all tension fled as he fainted.

 

But his chest continued to rise and fall in a steady, if shallow, rhythm under Snape's hand.

 

Snape gasped and sat down, hard, in the chilly mud, abruptly realizing that he was more exhausted than he could ever remember being. It was all he could do to keep from laying his head down on his former student's midriff and passing out himself. He'd done -- something -- obviously, to keep Harry in the world of the living, but what? How?

 

Didn't matter just now, all that mattered was that it had worked. He'd consider the rest of it when he could think again …

 

Someone was calling his name, and Harry's. "Severus! _Harry_. Oh, Merlin."

 

He managed to look up, and met a pair of anguished golden eyes across Harry's body. Remus Lupin. And the redheaded flurry of motion just skidding to a stop beside them was Ron Weasley, Potter's singularly annoying yearmate. Granger must have sent him. Idiot Gryffindors, the lot of them …

 

Lupin had his wand out and was muttering under his breath, scanning over Harry's prone form. His eyes widened and he looked at Snape. "What -- "

 

"No time," Snape managed. "Hogwarts."

 

The werewolf had always been quick on the uptake, Snape would give him that. His expression firmed and he nodded. "Right. Ron, get an arm under Harry and then give me your hand. We'll Ap--"

 

"Remus!"

 

Snape didn't look up, he'd know that voice anywhere. Joy upon joy, the day was now complete. Sirius Bloody Black.

 

There was a scuff and tumble of earth and rock, and Black was beside them.

 

"Sirius." There was no mistaking the relief in Lupin's voice. "Quick, get around Harry and Ron and give me your hand. We've got to move us all to Hogwarts."

 

"What ha--"

 

"Later, Paddy." Lupin laid his arm around Snape's back, and Snape realized he was far too tired to think about being annoyed about it. He couldn't even muster a protest that he could Apparate himself, thank you very much -- in his present state, he'd probably wind up splinched over several square kilometres.

 

"By the pitch," Lupin continued, and Black nodded. "Ready, Ron?"

 

The redhead was pale, but steady. "Yes, sir."

 

"Right, then. On three."

 

There was the familiar internal twist and his ears popped. Then the angle of the shadows was different and so was the wind, which now smelled like the distinctive grass around the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. And then nothing more.

 

~~ ~~ ~~

 

The first time Snape opened his eyes, it was to see Poppy Pomfrey's familiar form. He tried to speak, and couldn't. His throat was dust-dry.

 

"Shh." Poppy shook her head, and raised a glass and straw to his mouth. He accepted it gratefully, the immediate need for liquid being far greater than his distaste for being so ministered to.

 

She took the glass away too soon and Snape stared blankly up at the ceiling. Infirmary. He was in the medical ward. Why?

 

Memory returned in a rush. "Harry!" he said, or tried to.

 

"Hush." The mediwitch was back, one hand on his shoulder. "He's right there, Severus." He followed her gesture with his eyes. In the next bed over lay Harry Potter, lean and pale, his black hair an untidy shock against the white cotton bedclothes. Alive. Breathing. Snape could just see the gentle movement of Harry's chest beneath the sheet.

 

Relief poured through him and he relaxed, closing his eyes again. Safe. They were both safe, for the moment. He felt Poppy's hand squeeze gently and he made a mental note to be irritable with her when he next awoke, the annoying woman had given him something else with the water. The exhaustion took him away again.

 

The next time he awoke, it was to a low murmur of voices. Snape lay still, taking inventory. The damnable exhaustion had finally receded, but his head felt a little muzzy. Poppy had definitely given him a sleeping potion of some sort, probably Somniferus, by the trace of sweet-tart behind his teeth.

 

The voices again, one sounding like Remus Lupin. Snape concentrated, and the words began to make sense.

 

" … says that his heart had stopped, and it took an enormous infusion of energy to get it started again."

 

"What do you think?" And that, unfortunately, was Sirius Black.

 

"I think that if it weren't for Severus, we'd be burying him instead of watching him sleep. He saved Harry's life, again, and this time nearly killed himself doing it. You already owed him. Now we both do."

 

"Yes, well, it would only have been poetic justice if he -- "

 

"Siri," Lupin interrupted, low and intense, "I love you, but if you finish that sentence, so _help_ me I will hex you into next _year_!" The werewolf's husky baritone was as fierce as Snape had ever heard it.

 

"Remus --"

 

"Don't, Sirius."

 

Silence, except for the quiet sounds of breathing.

 

"This all goes back to the Shack, doesn't it." It didn't sound like a question, and Lupin didn't answer. "That's when it started to fall apart between us, too," Black continued softly. "I never … Will you ever be able to forgive me for that?"

 

"For setting me up to unwittingly commit murder?" Lupin sighed, and Snape felt astonishment run through him. Well. So Lupin hadn't been lying about that, after all -- he truly hadn't known what Black had planned. _Forgive me, Lily; you were right._

 

"I did, eventually, while you were in Azkaban. More for myself than for you, though, truthfully. But I very much doubt that Severus ever has. You owe him, Padfoot; and an apology is the least of it."

 

More silence.

 

"I need a drink."

 

A muffled chuckle from Lupin. "That, at least, we agree upon. And I know just the place."

 

"What about Harry?"

 

"He'll sleep for a while yet, I think, and Severus as well. Poppy says that they're both out of danger, it's a matter now of resting to regain strength, and only time can accomplish that. So we'll leave them to it. I believe you and Ron and Hermione and I have an appointment with a bottle of very old brandy."

 

"How old?"

 

Lupin named a date, and Snape had to fight not to whistle.

 

"Where in the name of Merlin did you find that?"

 

"Would you believe -- Hagrid?"

 

"Yes, actually, I would."

 

The voices receded, soft footsteps sounding on the floor. There was the quiet shush of a door opening. Snape opened his eyes as he heard it click shut.

 

It was night, the room lit by a charmed fire in the fireplace he could see past the foot of the bed he lay in. He looked around cautiously. This was one of the smaller rooms off of the infirmary, a private room of sorts, used on the rare occasion that a faculty member was taken ill. There were four beds in here; he was lying in one, and two more were empty. The fourth was occupied by Harry Potter.

 

Snape carefully levered himself up on one elbow. He was tired, still, but nothing close to the bone-deep fatigue he'd felt earlier. This he could deal with.

 

He and Potter were alone, for the moment. He studied his former student in the light from the fire and from the two fat candles burning on the table between their beds. He wondered how long he'd been there -- a day? Two? He'd have to ask Poppy.

 

Snape shook his head fractionally, coming back to the here and now. He sat up carefully, noting absently that he was clothed in one of his own long nightshirts, and his own clothes were neatly folded on the table at the foot of the bed. Pomfrey knew how much he hated being in infirmary -- he liked it no better now than he had as a student. It had only taken one shouting match after he had begun teaching here to impress upon her that he _would_ leave her care as soon as possible, and that there had better be clothes for him to do it in.

 

The past blurred into the present again as he rested his hands on his thighs and watched Potter sleep. The light, the incredible rush of power, the warmth of Harry's legs beneath his cheek. He had been dying, indeed, but Harry had come after him, found him, done -- something. Healed him, somehow. Given him life. And then Snape had given it back to him.

 

His thought processes stumbled and stopped, looped back.

 

Found him. Potter had found him.

 

Harry had come after him. To a Death Eater meeting. With Voldemort there. Had walked straight into the trap. The idiot brat could have died.

 

The idiot brat nearly _had_ died.

 

The thought twisted through his brain, circling like a rat in a maze with no way out. _He almost died. Because of me. He almost died because he came after me …_

 

There wasn't enough air in the room.

 

A rustle of sound snapped him back. Severus looked up to see the tall, bearded, be-robed form of Albus Dumbledore entering the room. The Headmaster moved quickly and quietly over to Severus' bed. Instead of using the chair next to it, though, Dumbledore seated himself on the edge of the bed and gathered Severus into a gentle hug. "My dear boy … "

 

Severus stiffened, then relaxed. Most of his life he had both craved and shied away from physical contact -- it was a dichotomy about himself that he'd never been able to resolve. Dumbledore was one of the few people he allowed to touch him. _Of course, that might be because he's been doing it since you were a snotty eleven-year-old._

 

Albus released him and sat back, pulling his wand out of his sleeve. With a whisper he cast a light one-way silencing charm over the two of them, one that would allow sound in, but not out. The wand vanished again, and Albus met his eyes. Severus saw the hint of steel behind the twinkling blue. "What happened, Severus?"

 

"Our luck ran out." Severus closed his eyes for just a moment. "As we feared, _He_ had suspected I was playing both sides. Last night -- "  
  


"Three nights ago, actually," Albus said.

 

Severus blinked. He had been asleep for a while, then. "Lucius Malfoy confirmed it for all to hear, and forced _His_ hand. Lucius then suggested that I might make better bait than sport, and so they didn't kill me. The results were, nonetheless … uncomfortable."

 

"Rather more than uncomfortable, from what Miss Granger has told me." Albus' eyes narrowed a little. "And then?"

 

"Granger and Potter found me." Severus stared back, accusingly.

 

Dumbledore shook his head. "They received no information from me, Severus." His light blue eyes were steady, and after a moment Severus shifted his own gaze to the fireplace. "And?"

 

"And Potter … "

 

"Healed you, somehow." Dumbledore's voice was soft.

 

"Yes."

 

"Tell me."

 

He saw again in memory the light, felt the incredible flood of power and heat as he tried to describe what was, in the end, indescribable, searching for words that didn't make him sound like an idiot expounding on one of those Muggle Christian so-called miracles. Albus sat quietly until he was finished, white brows creased in that way that told Severus the Headmaster was thinking hard.

 

"Magicus Animo," Dumbledore said finally, softly.

 

Severus closed his eyes and swallowed. _Heart Magic._ He really wished Albus hadn't said that. "That's impossible, Albus."

 

"In this case, expressed as spontaneous healing. An enormous, violent, sometimes life-threatening expense of magical energy by one wizard to save the life of someone close to them. Rare indeed, but not impossible. Only known to have happened," Albus continued slowly, "when the wizard in question had strong -- "

 

The Headmaster's voice ceased as Severus squinched his eyes shut and jerked his head away to one side, flinging up one hand almost without volition, as if to stop the flow of words. He felt more than a little sick. He knew the medical textbook passage Albus was quoting: _" … when the wizard in question has strong, deep emotional ties to the one he/she is trying to save, strong enough that he/she be willing to give up his/her own life, if necessary, to accomplish that end."_

 

It wasn't possible. It simply was not possible. Potter didn't, he _couldn't_ \--

 

But Albus was going on.

 

"Remus," the older wizard paused as if gathering his thoughts, "says that he saw a brilliant glow of light around you and Harry when he found you. And according to both he and Poppy, Harry nearly died on that field." Albus' voice was softer yet, but still Severus felt every word, and their terrifying implications, like the twist of a vise around his chest.

 

Again, it felt like there wasn't enough air in the room. And again, a rustle of sound snapped him back.

 

Severus snapped back around to see Potter shifting over onto his back, his brow creased as if in pain. One arm flung over his head and the young man shifted restlessly, murmuring something Severus couldn't quite hear. Severus was barely aware of Albus shifting off of his bed and canceling the silencing charm. His whole attention was riveted on the third occupant of the room.

 

Severus watched, struggling for a proper breath, his emotions roiling, as Potter's motions grew sharper, his words more distinct.

 

"No … _no_ … "

 

 _Nightmare,_ he thought wildly. _Well, it would be rather amazing if he didn't have them, wouldn't it, considering what he's seen in his eighteen and a half years. And I'm going to be giving him another one for the unbelievably crass, dunderheaded risk he just took --_

 

_**"No!"** _

 

The low, intense cry rang through the room as Potter sat bolt upright, fists clenched, eyes wide and unseeing. He stared wildly around at the fire, the walls, the bed he was in. And then he found and locked eyes with Severus.

 

For a moment it was almost like being mind to mind again, the thrust of Harry's relief so strong it was nearly physical. Harry had never been a terribly good liar, his Gryffindor honesty wrote his feelings in his eyes. Right now those eyes were full of worry and relief and something else that Severus simply could not believe he was seeing aright.

 

Potter broke the moment with a shaky sigh, closing his eyes and flopping back onto his pillows. "God," he whispered. "God. We did it." He smiled a small, tired, entirely-too-Gryffindorish smile. "We made it."

 

Severus could only watch, still in a detached sort of shock, his voice caught somewhere between fury and hysteria.

 

Potter abruptly rolled over and up onto his elbow, mirroring Severus' earlier position. "Are you all right?" he asked, sounding anxious. "How do you feel?"

 

 _How do I feel?_ Severus struggled, finally getting a deep breath. "How…do I…feel?" he gritted out, his throat unlocking at last. Fury won.

 

"How. Do. I. _**Feel?!**_ _"_

 

"What in Merlin's name were you _doing_?! I won't ask what you were thinking as it is blindingly obvious that you _weren't_! And not only yourself, no, you must drag Lupin and Granger, of all people, along in your insanity! You irresponsible idiot! You could have died, or worse!"

 

Potter's expression had gone from anxious to shocked to the low-burn anger Snape was quite familiar with. "I know that you _would_ have died," he said, with the growly edge to his voice that always reminded Snape a little of the boy's mangy mutt of a godfather.

 

"That's not important and it's not a reason!" Snape snapped back. Potter opened his mouth again, eyes narrowed, but Snape cut him off. "You are key to Albus' plans and you know it! Yet you would selfishly, arrogantly risk everything he has built! For what?!"

 

"No one is expendable, Severus!"

 

"That. Is. Not. Important. How often must I say something before there is any hope of it sinking into your thick skull?! Nothing like this must ever happen again! Do you understand me?"

 

Potter glared, and a tiny bit of Snape's mind was amused that the young man had indeed learned something from him. _He must have practiced that in a mirror, he's not half-bad._

"Do you? Say something, Potter!"

 

"You're welcome." The younger man's teeth flashed in what could in no way be called a smile. The sarcasm in his voice would have done even Lucius Malfoy proud.

 

 _Oh, well done. A fine shot, indeed. But this is_ _ **me**_ _you are dealing with, and you are out of your league._ Snape never got to unleash his next volley, though, as the door abruptly flew open to reveal Poppy Pomfrey.

 

"Ah. Both awake at last, I see, and in fiiiiine temper, too." She bustled into the room.

 

"Indeed. A sign of recovery, don't you think?" Albus' revoltingly cheerful voice came from over Severus' shoulder and he started. He had completely forgotten the man was there.

 

Potter, who had also jumped as if he'd not even noticed Dumbledore's presence in the room, now flopped down onto his back once again, eyes closed, his expression a mixture of annoyance and trepidation. Severus fought a smirk, his black humour coming to the fore -- apparently Potter enjoyed being "scolded" by Albus and Poppy every bit as much as he himself did. Something they had in common. The thought was unsettlingly warming.

 

~~ ~~ ~~

 

The sun was rising by the time Severus made it back to his rooms, trying to ignore the echoes of both Potter's and Dumbledore's voices in his head. Although it wasn't either of those causing him the most discomfort.

 

It was his own.

 

He slammed and spell-locked the door behind him. It was the adult wizard's version of thumbing his nose at Albus and the world, he admitted that in his calmer moments, but right now he didn't care. Crossing to the fireplace, he collapsed into his favorite armchair. He started a fire with a word and a gesture, then dropped his wand onto the table at his elbow, slumped back, and closed his eyes.

 

Darkness. Darkness and cold, and pain, and Potter's eyes …

 

Severus' eyes snapped open. He leaned forward with an oath, resting his head on his hands and staring into the fire. He could feel the fine edge of the hysteria he'd diverted earlier creeping in on him now. He had the self-control to fall apart in private, at least, if he couldn't stop it.

 

Harry Potter had run the ragged edge of extinction several times before, displaying that ridiculous Gryffindor tendency to let bravery and selflessness obliterate what little common sense might have been his to begin with. And Snape had rescued the idiot more than once. So why was this time different? Why did his heart lurch in his chest and his knees feel revoltingly weak?

 

Because this time, it was on _his_ account. Potter had risked his own neck, and not inconsequentially the hopes of the sane wizarding world, to save Severus Snape's life.

 

Harry had come after him.

 

He could still feel the warmth of Potter's legs, the touch of the boy's, no, the _young man's_ hands upon his shoulders …

 

 _No_.

 

And then when Potter had nearly died, Severus had …

 

_Strong, deep emotional ties…_

 

 _ **"No**_."

 

Severus groaned and leaned back again in his chair, and pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes.

 

Although he could, and would, and did lie for the Greater Good, Severus Snape rarely lied to himself. That way, he had found, lay madness. And what, precisely, was the truth? The dark, forbidden feeling rose again and this time, he let it come.

 

He … wanted … Harry Potter.

 

_My student._

 

**Not anymore.**

 

_He's a child._

 

**He's eighteen, nearly nineteen -- hardly a child.**

 

_He is half my age._

 

**You are a long-lived people. In a few years that age difference won't be a problem.**

 

_I don't even like the irritating little brat!_

 

**Not so little anymore, and since when has "like" had anything to do with --**

 

_He is_ _ Lily's son _ _._

 

The other voice in his head didn't seem to have an answer for that, at first. But then …

 

**He is. But is that why you want him?**

 

Severus groaned again, dropping his hands and opening his eyes to stare once more into the fire.

 

No, that was not why he wanted Harry.

 

No, he had started to want Harry when Severus had _stopped_ seeing him as a copy of James with Lily's eyes. Somewhere in the brat's seventh year, when Severus had been forced to perceive Harry as a person in his own right, and realized that the fine line between hate and love was horrifyingly true in this case.

 

He wanted Harry Potter because … because he was Harry. Annoying, obstinate, gritty, brave Harry.

 

 

For a few moments he let go, let himself feel. Then he took it all, the desire and hopeless longing, the unwanted affection, and boxed them up neatly and stored them away in a quiet, dark corner of himself. They would never again see the light of day.

 

While Potter didn't hate him now and hadn't for some time, he knew, it was a far cry from … well. They had learned to be comrades-in-arms; someday, perhaps, they might manage to be friends. It was, it would have to be, enough. Nothing more than this would happen. Harry would never want it.

 

Severus would not allow it.

 

Dumbledore's assessment of what had occurred was mistaken, that was all. The aggravating man was, occasionally, wrong.

 

So why could he not forget the look in Potter's eyes when the younger wizard had seen him awake, there in the infirmary?

 

~~ ~~ ~~

 

As much as he didn't want to, Severus knew he would have to at least make an appearance at the annual Christmas Eve party that night. If he didn't, rumours about his condition might start. It would never do to let the students suspect that their Potions professor might actually be human -- their fear of him was far too useful. Besides, his absence might also lead to questions or, worse yet, concerns, from his fellow teachers that he neither needed nor wanted.

 

His cover with Voldemort was most likely blown beyond repair, and Severus wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. While a sense of great relief at the prospect of never again having to kowtow to that monstrosity could not be denied, the thought of the information they would no longer have access to made him distinctly uneasy.

 

 

Some eight hours later, he still hadn't resolved his feelings about his spying role, but he was very much regretting his decision about the party.

 

As big as the Great Hall was, Severus still felt as if he was suffocating. The air was heavy with the scents of holiday spices and evergreens, and the mental atmosphere was positively cloying with the high spirits of students and staff, right down to the damned house elves. Add to that the nauseating smells of far too much food, sweets, and punch, and Severus felt his gorge abruptly threaten to rise.

 

Out. He had to get out. If he was forced to endure any more Christmas Eve cheer he was going to hex somebody, see if he didn't. Severus rose to his feet, barely managing not to launch himself out of the chair, and headed for the door. He stormed down the hall, feeling like a dark, unheeded omen, not pausing until he reached the doorway leading out onto a small, little-used balcony on the east side of the castle.

 

The frigid air hit him with a smack and Severus inhaled deeply, deliberately, welcoming the shock down his lungs. It was a clear, moonless night, and the stars he could see were terribly bright. Peaceful.

 

Silent.

 

Solitary.

 

Not even five minutes later footsteps and the rustle of cloth sounded, echoing. Neither sound was his.

 

Oh, hellfire. He had company. Why tonight, of all nights?

 

He melted back against the castle wall and stilled, becoming one with the shadow, as the intruder appeared. Harry Potter moved out across the balcony and fetched up against the edge, gripping the railing with both hands as though it were the only thing anchoring him. He tipped his face up to the waxing moon and closed his eyes.

 

Severus wanted to laugh, or perhaps cry. Fate was indeed a fickle bitch.

 

Some minutes later another set of footsteps approached, lighter ones this time.

 

"Harry?" The Granger girl.

 

Outlined as Potter was in moonlight, Severus could see him blink and swallow before he answered. "I'm fine, 'Mione. I'll be along presently."

 

Granger sighed and moved forward. Reaching Potter, she slipped both arms around his waist from behind, and laid her cheek against his back, and was silent. A small excuse for a smile twitched Potter's lips, and he laid his arms across Granger's.

 

They stood in silence for a bit, then Potter's low voice broke the stillness. "You should go back inside. It's too cold out here, and Ron'll be looking for you, surely."

 

"He knows where I am," Granger replied softly.

 

Potter's smile widened a touch. "Well then, you really should go, before he comes charging out to accuse me of stealing his girl."

 

Granger made a most unladylike snort. "Oh, as if."

 

"Now wait a minute, why not? I do like girls, you know." Potter opened his eyes, his brows drawing together in what looked very much like mock indignation.

 

"Of course you do. You just happen to like boys better," Granger retorted, pulling one hand loose and smacking Potter lightly on the arm. "Prat."

 

"Hermione!"

 

"What, was it a secret?"

 

Potter laughed softly, a delightful sound full of real humour that Severus had heard far too little in the last year, and hugged Granger's arms. She hugged him in return, smiling against his back.

 

Severus almost didn't breathe. He was abruptly grateful for the icy solidity of the castle wall at his back. There had been rumours while the boy had still been a student, of course -- in the hothouse environment that was Hogwarts it was the unusual student who made it out without having at least one affair -- but nothing definite. And now here it was: Harry Potter, the Golden Child of the wizarding world, played for both teams.

 

It wasn't uncommon, truly; there were many wizards who did not feel constrained to limit their affections to one body type or the other -- Severus himself was one. Certainly there was not the stigma attached to it that Severus knew there was in the Muggle world. But to hear it confirmed, right from the source, that Potter too was among their number … The sudden, treacherous flood of warmth through his body was nearly enough to counteract the temperature of the stone he leaned against.

 

"I'm fine, 'Mione. Don't worry, " Potter said.

 

Granger gave an exasperated-sounding huff. "Harry, three days ago you were _dead_. I'll worry if I want to."

 

Potter grinned briefly at that, but was silent, and after some moments Granger continued. "Is it Christmas, then?"

 

Severus watched Potter close his eyes and take a breath. "Yes," the young man answered after a pause. "It's both better and worse this year, I think."

 

"How so?"

 

"Better because now I know, for certain. And worse because I can't pay a visit, not just now."

 

Potter was talking about his parents, Severus realized.

 

"Because?"

 

"Because I can't get there on my own, and I won't ask -- well. I won't ask, not right now."

 

_So, he didn't tell them everything. Amazing. The boy does have some discretion._

 

Granger stared with a thoughtful expression at the back of Potter's head. Then she rose up on tiptoe and leaned close, and whispered something. Potter froze, then he loosened her grip and turned in her arms, and looked down at her. With his mouth open like that he looked rather unflatteringly like a landed bass.

 

Granger moved in again and whispered something else, then settled back and cocked her head to one side. "I'm right, aren't I?" she asked softly. "On both counts?"

 

_Both? She's obviously figured out who it was took Potter on his trip, but what is the other thing?_

 

"'Mione, I love you but sometimes you are bloody scary." Potter's expression had gone from shocked to resigned. "How did -- "

 

"I watch. I listen. And I _know_ you, Harry. It's been you and Ron and I since we were eleven, remember?" She grinned. "Mostly I can read you like a book."

 

Potter groaned quietly. "Fantastic. Well, at least you're still talking to me. Has Ron figured it out then, too?"

 

"Have I figured what out?" Both Potter and Granger started as Ron Weasley stepped out to join them on the balcony. Severus started as well; he'd been so caught up in the conversation that he'd not heard Weasley's approach, either. _Sloppy brats. And sloppy yourself, Severus. That kind of inattention will get you killed, or worse._

 

"About Harry's little trip last year," Granger said as she turned and held out a hand to pull Weasley into the circle. "And about who he's been mooning over."

 

Potter closed his eyes and winced.

 

_Mooning. Potter is -- interested in someone._

 

Oh, Merlin, that hurt.

 

"Of course I have," Weasley said, as soft as the other two had been, "and all on my own, too, I might add." He wasn't quite looking at Potter, despite their proximity. Potter's head came up and he squared his shoulders minutely, as if bracing himself for something unpleasant.

 

Weasley took a breath and let it out, and met Potter's eyes. "Harry, mate … it's your life. You can do whatever, be with whomever you want, and you certainly don't need _my_ permission for any of it." He grinned crookedly. "Doesn't mean I won't tell you when I think you've gone nutters, of course, which I think in this case you have." He reached out to grip one of Potter's arms. "But if this will make you happy, then I'll learn to manage it. Somehow. You're my _friend_ , Harry. Nothing short of you becoming the next You-Know-Who is going to change that."

 

Potter's face had gone from resigned back to shocked during Weasley's little speech. Now the shock gave way to a very obviously happy relief. Granger took a step back as Potter took a step forward and pulled Weasley into a hard, awkward-looking embrace. "Ron … "

 

"Yeah, Harry, you too. Oh hell, don't make me blush. You know how much I hate that."

 

Potter gave an explosive, shaky laugh. "Well, fine then. This'll be the last time I try to tell you what you mean to me. Berk."

 

"You're idiots, the both of you. You know that, right?" Granger's muffled, long-suffering voice asked, and Severus wanted to laugh.

 

"Thanks awfully, 'Mione." Weasley sounded resigned, and Potter gave a snort of amusement.

 

After some moments the three disentangled themselves. Potter brushed the sleeve of his robe over his eyes. Granger ducked to look into his down-turned face, her own features concerned. "Harry?"

 

"Hhm?"

 

"I'm sorry this hurts you. Knowing, and not being able to go."

 

Potter shrugged, with an rather patently forced nonchalance. "Well, nothing's perfect."

 

"Maybe it would've been better if you'd not found out," Weasley said.

 

Potter shook his head and gave them both a lopsided smile. "Oh, no. I wouldn't trade the knowledge for anything. If I live to be a thousand, no one could give me a more precious thing than that. It's the best Christmas gift I've ever gotten."

 

Once again Severus found it hard to breathe.

 

Weasley and Granger seemed to have nothing to say to that, and a few moments later Potter broke the tableau with "Right, let's go in then, shall we? It's bloody freezing out here."

 

"Really, Harry, what was your first clue?" Weasley shot back, looking grateful. "My chattering teeth or my lovely shade of blue?"

 

"Goes well with your hair, that does," Potter commented with a wicked grin as they turned to go in, dancing away from Weasley's mock punch.

 

Granger's laughter drifted back as the door swung shut behind the three, leaving Severus alone again.

 

Alone, and amazed.

 

That finding where his parents rested was important to Potter, he'd known, but that it mattered _that much …_

 

And Severus had been the one who'd given that to him.

 

He levered himself away from the wall, his movements stiff with cold, and found a small smile crossing his lips. _What do you know, Lily? I_ _ **did**_ _do the right thing, then and now._

 

He looked once more up at the bright, patient stars, then over at the doorway back into the castle.

 

_Happy Christmas, Harry._

 

_ finis _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Story written February 2007. First posting/publication March 2012. This series came about due to my desire to give certain characters a happy, or happier, ending than I suspected that The Author was going to allow them.


End file.
